


Jungle Fever

by orphan_account



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, Other, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tentacle Sex, alien insects, tummy bulges
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4859075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift, Ratchet and Fortress Maximus search for energon on a strange jungle planet and have an intimately close encounter with some large insects</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of a Commission for [CosmicDanger](http://cosmicdanger.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Part 2 coming soon :D

Jungle Fever

 

Drift watched Fortress Maximus’s back. He watched beads of humidly collect on his blue plating and watched the pistons in Fortress Maximus’s hips compress each time Max threw his full weight and power into every swing of the machete and hacked apart the dense foliage, gradually clearing a wonky road for Drift and Ratchet to follow in his wake.

            “Why was he necessary again?” Drift whispered exclusively to Ratchet. They were far out of Maximus’s hearing range, but Drift was still cautious. His fingers had gripped the handle of his Great Sword since he’d landed, preparing to do his fair share of the labour, but Fortress Maximus left him with nothing to do.

            Ratchet knew Drift was feeling like a spare part and shushed him regardless.

            “It’ll do Max some good to stretch his legs. Better to have him slashing up shrubs than us,” and that was indeed true, but the energy Fortress Maximus reserved for hacking proved to be entirely useless when faced with a different kind of obstacle…

            Their exploration of the strange alien world had led them into a cave, it was huge by Cybertronian standards with needle-like lengths of rock stretching down from the ceiling and small, round holes in the roof allowed the humidity outside to seep in as well as thin shafts of light, but as they investigated the cavern, venturing deeper, gloominess overtook the pale light of the tropical blue sun and the darkness got denser.

            “Signal’s coming from down there, head lamps on.” they were hunting for fuel, the Lost Light scanner revealed that this jungle planet held the most concentrated and viable source of energy within light-years and there were steadily encroaching on its source.

            As the light became dimmer, their headlights brightened, illuminating only what was immediately ahead of them until a sudden and heavy scuttling jerked their sights away from their path.

            “What was that?!” Fortress Maximus had fallen in line with Ratchet and Drift, “Was it bugs? I frackin’ hate bugs!”

            “Probably just some rocks getting dislodged,” Ratchet scanned the ceiling, searching for possible flaws in its stability.

            “Great. I think I’d rather the bugs.”

            “Drift!” Ratchet hissed when another session of mysterious sounds interrupted him and their headlamps flashed chaotically as they all searched the vast space for its source.

            “Well, whatever it is, I don’t like the sound of - _AH!”_ Drift and Ratchet swung to face Fortress Maximus in time to see whatever he’d slapped off his neck fall and get pulped to oblivion under his boot.

            “No!” Drift sprung forward, but couldn’t save the creature from the crushing blow, “What’d you do that for?!”

            “It fraggin bit me!” Fort Max still had one hand clamped over his neck as he lifted his foot, grimacing at the sight of sticky pink innards stretching between him and the floor. Whatever the creature had been it was no more.

            “Bend forward,” Ratchet instructed and closely examined the four puncture wounds indented into Maximus’s neck. They bled slightly and Ratchet’s finger transformed into a mesh swab, he dabbed up some of the excretion and took a sample while Drift focused on the deceased bug.

            “Looks like it was some sort of Myriapod.” Drift deduced from the remains of many, many legs and squashed segments.

            “A what?” Max squinted.

            “Millipedes, centipedes - those sort of creepy-crawlies.”

            A shudder passed through Maximus’s body.

            “Told you it was bugs.”

            “How’re you feeling?” Ratchet’s finger had transformed again and produced a torch that glowed brighter than their headlights and he shone it into Fortress Maximus’s optics.

            “What d’ya mean?”                        

            “Any dizziness? Blurred vision?”

            “Do the creeps count?”

            Ratchet chuffed, and buried the torch protruding from his finger.

            “You seem fine, let me know if you feel any different.”

            Responding with a grunt, Fortress Maximus suppressed a shiver and wobbled backward, letting Ratchet get in front of him and crouch, coming face to face with Drift, who was carefully picking through the alien remains.

            “What’ve we got?”

            “Well, it doesn’t compare much to anything we’ve got in our database, but I think I’ve found the source of the energon we detected. It’s in this thing’s blood.”

            “What?!” Ratchet roared, greatly dubious. “But  it’s so small. The energon we detected was in huge quantities. There must be thousands - _millions_ of these things to make those kind of readings.”

            Behind them, Fortress Maximus’s engines growled painfully and he stretched his arm out in front of him, his finger shaking at something growing out of the oozy walls.

            “Or just a few really, really, big ones.”

            Drift and Ratchet turned sharpish, wide optics staring into the fiery shape appearing in the blackness. It was a larger version of the creature Fort Max had struck off his neck. It had a long segmented body trimmed in gold and dozens of thin legs to carry it forward on its belly. It moved in a wavy pattern encroaching gradually to Drift and Ratchet’s concern. The shudders in Fortress Maximus body however, appeared to grow, shaking him to his core and down to his feet. His internal temperature building gradually making his cheeks glow.

            “Is it intelligent?” Drift turned to Ratchet, “Can we communicate with it?”

            “I don’t”-

            “Ratchet! I’m not feeling…I’m not feeling so…” moaning, Fortress Maximus stooped forward, his frame was beaded with vapour expelled from his vents. Ratchet jerked backward, struggling to catch and hold the hulking mech as Fortress Maximus’s balance slipped.

            “Is it the bite?”

            Max’s slurred response was interrupted by the ring of Drift’s sword echoing as he poised himself to confront the creature eagerly scuttling forward. It paused when it sensed danger and Drift rooted his feet to the ground, staring at the creature with formidable determination. But while Drift’s sight was focused on the threat ahead of him, he failed to slash off any sneaky advances from the moist roof of the cave.

            A second creature dropped, landing heavily on Drift and tackling him to the floor. With a yell and a thud, Drift was incapacitated, smothered under the creature’s bulk. Although it as smaller than its kin it was still grotesquely huge and heavy. Its distinctly purple body writhing and wriggling all over Drift and Ratchet watched powerlessly as two pairs of fangs appeared between the creature’s wiggly mandibles - they glowed an unnaturally bright shade of pink: inside was a swollen reservoir of processed, extremely refined energon supplemented with who knows what other special ingredient and it was all pumped into Drift the moment the creature latched onto his neck.      

            Drift gasped. Planting his palms on the ground, he tried forcing himself against the creature’s mass, but its fangs were embedded deeply and even when Drift prized himself off the floor the strange alien insect was still grasping his neck.

            Ratchet dived forward, panicked and immediately prepared to grab the creature’s mandibles and rip them off Drift’s neck, but his heroics were interrupted by the instincts of the original and much larger, heavier insect.

            The Red Insect scuttled forward, hissing and clicking angrily at its purple counterpart and demanded Drift be released. It snapped its fangs at the Purple Insect and as the two tussled for dominance of their _meal,_ Ratchet lugged Drift away from trouble.

            “It tried to eat me!” Drift rasped, his eyes wide and borderline manic.

            “We need to leave,” and Ratchet would’ve made good on his suggestion if it wasn’t for Fort Max groaning behind them. They looked up and Max was close to the ground, squatting, he looked pained and his cooling systems were roaring with an alarming need to drag fresh air into his body.

            “Max?” Ratchet cautiously brought Drift in closer. Fortress Maximus’s knees were shaking under his weight.

            “It’s so hot,” he complained, mopping his palm through the vapour clinging to his neck, “Ratchet, I… I think there’s something wrong,” to confirm Max’s fears, he lost control over his modesty.

            Shuddering, his interface panel peeled apart and a splatter of fluid dripped onto the floor. Ratchet turned his head away, a little embarrassed and ordered Maximus to cover himself. Max did not comply. Arousal shivered through him and he pawed at his spike, making it grow. In the fluid weeping from the tip of his member and from the quivering lips of his valve there was a scent - heavy and musky, it got the insects’ attention and they stampeded forward, barging past their two other likely candidates in a race to claim the prize.

            The Red Insect arrived first and lorded over Fortress Maximus’s body, hissing at its competitor to back off. Ratchet dragged Drift further aside and watched, mortified, as Fortress Maximus’s body seemed to positively respond to the creature taking a stance over his frame.

            The Purple loser, who’d missed the opportunity, prowled nearby as the other insect curled around Fortress Maximus, first crawling between his legs and then gradually spiralling higher, wrapping itself around Max’s body until its mandibles were caressing Fortress Maximus’s throat, tipping his head back.

            Maximus groaned and rested his weight on the creature’s support. It was even larger than he was and its exoskeleton was hard, but on its stomach was a length of softer flesh, pliant; just lower than its middle there was a circle of muscle that unclenched and through it extended many thin, lanky appendages. Like small tentacles, they writhed gently, reminding Ratchet of the tassels on the mop he used to clean the medical bay until they suddenly wriggled harder and stiffened. The creature thrust up its abdomen and the strange appendages stroked Maximus’s interface.

            Ratchet was worried and called out to Maximus, but his concern was wasted as feelings of pleasure overcame Max’s sense. Enjoyment became paramount and he simply didn’t want to listen.

            In the creature’s grasp, Maximus thrust out his chest. His arms were pinned at his sides and he could do nothing but wriggle. His thighs spread apart and welcomed every caress of the creature soothing the itch that addled his interface, driving Maximus mad.

            The thin limbs explored Maximus’s interface, dragging sweeping strokes through the cleft of his aft and curiously testing the spongey material swelling around Maximus’s valve. The creature seemed particularly fascinated the source of so much luxurious scented wetness and stretched a flurry of limbs inside Maximus, teasing the shape of his valve open so that it might possibly fulfil his needs to more exceptional standards.

            Fortress Maximus’s jaw dropped, releasing a sound so obscene that Ratchet felt flooded with heat and it prompted a similar reaction from Drift, who squirmed in Ratchet’s arms and groaned. A glaze of need had overcome his expression and Ratchet felt tremors of anticipation rock Drift’s body.

            “I think it’s happening to me too, Ratch’” Drift gasped, his interface pulsing at the sight of something thicker appearing between the writhing mass of wiggling feelers between Maximus’s legs and breaching Max’s body. Drift only had a glimpse of it, whatever it was it was thick and imagining it made his loins throb. Fortress Maximus was allowed to sink down the length and he moaned in a low animalistic pleasure as the penetration touched deep inside him.

            Drift arched.

            “I want it Ratch’ I want it inside…”

            To Ratchet’s horror and allure Drift didn’t seem at all repulsed by his desires, whatever the Purple Insect has pumped into was having a potent effect and Drift watched Fortress Maximus in his ‘predicament’ with hungry eyes, yearning for the same attention.

            Maximus’s chest heaved and his rutting over the Red creature’s abdominals became more frenzied. He stimulated his nub, clenched his insides, Fortress Maximus’s knees gripped the segments of the creature’s body that extended under him and he stiffen, fists balling up tight as a hard and wonderful overload brought fluids gushing out of his spike and valve.

            Fortress Maximus sagged, trusting the creature’s strength to hold him and twitching often as the feelers exploring the surface of his interface array brushed his very sensitive nub.

            Something stirred nearby and Ratchet’s attention snapped to the Purple Insect, who’d been lurking for the duration of Maximus’s encounter with it’s Red superior and now, it was no longer alone. Other insects had arrived, all purple in colour. There were dozens of them and they kept appearing, digging out of the soil and clambering down the walls. They homed in on Fortress Maximus while he was still intoxicated by the attention of the Red Insect and pressed his aroused valve into the writhing clutch of the creature’s exotic genitals. He moaned when it was dragged away from him, its long body brushing against his thighs as the Red Insect slithered away leaving Fortress Maximus cold and empty. The exposure uncorked another arousing scent from within. The smell of alien interfacing was pungent, Drift sensed it acutely and his hand slipped between his thighs while he was still locked in Ratchet’s arms.

            “Please,” Drift mumbled, bordering on delirious. “…I need.”

            Maximus’s loneliness expired quickly. The Purple Insects surrounded him and eagerly replaced the gap vacated by their predecessor, swarming Maximus with curious nudges and their alien parts were thrust into his attention.

                Fortress Maximus stuck one hand out to steady himself and touched a Purple Insect’s plume of tentacles, his palm covered the bulge and the unusual grey, lanky appendages wriggled between his fingers. Another creature slipped inside Fortress Maximus’s dripping interface provoking him to moan, throwing his head back and making his spike bob within the cautious grasp of another Purple Insect who’d come to investigate. This one was smaller, it brushed its mandibles over Maximus’s girth and tickled the tip, uncurling its tongue against his transfluid slit over and over until the sensitive membrane covering Maximus’s spike pulsed a lurid and intense red.

            Max overloaded again, writhing in this punishing heat and the creatures’ combined interests. His excitement rekindled quickly. The creatures concentrated on his valve and spike and Fortress Maximus didn’t seem slightly self-conscious as he stretched his thighs further open and encouraged the creatures to make his valve swell with their sex.

            Drift’s pangs for relief were equally severe. The toxicity of the Purple Insect’s aphrodisiac set Drift’s systems alight with depraved cravings. He was so relieved when the superior Red Insect caught a whiff of Drift’s intoxicating arousal and headed over immediately. Drift cried out in bliss.

            Ratchet, however, was panicked. The Red Insect didn’t even seem to notice him as it charged toward Drift. Ratchet was shunted aside and the creature curled around Drift in a similar way it had done to Fortress Maximus, holding Drift captive. The size difference between them was more obvious and Drift was small in comparison. Ratchet could only see parts of Drift appearing between creature’s red mass.

            The Red Insect manoeuvred Drift onto his back. With the other insects were still paying attention to its last conquest, the Red Insect took the time to acquaint itself better with Drift’s body than it had done with Maximus.

            Ratchet watched with morbid fascination as the Red Insect coiled and uncoiled around Drift over and over, bending and twisting his shape until the head of the creature was wriggling its mandibles over Drift’s valve. Ratchet watched a small, pink tongue uncurl and dab gently at Drift’s entrance. The stimulation stirring soft gasps from its prey. Once the creature had one taste it decided it wanted more. The tongue grew, like a proboscis, and Ratchet saw it happen. He watched the tongue extend into Drift’s valve and keep on stretching.                

            It was so thin, Drift could barely clench around it. Spasms made his valve get tighter, the tongue was fed in so deep Drift felt its invasive study like a needle pricking his ceiling node. He squealed and the creature’s thin tongue snapped back into its jaws. The taste of Drift imprinted on its senses and Drift’s legs kicked wide apart immediately expecting more.

            The insect moved, aligning Drift with the bulge of tentacles that were still wet with Fortress Maximus’s fluids. Drift whined when he was tickled, the muted sensation giving him no relief, and howled when the insect inserted itself fully into his valve.

            Forcing its girth into Drift’s smaller body was significantly more difficult than pressing inside Fortress Maximus, who was wide and large. Drift’s proportions measured smaller. He engulfed the alien’s size but not comfortably. The more that was pressed into him, the more Drift struggled, huffing and panting and whining through a grimace as drool overflowed his lips.

            Drift’s aft ached, the creature entered Drift with two thrusts and by the fifth it had sheathed itself completely in Drift, and Drift’s interface was flush to the creature’s abdominals. The organic texture of the Red Insect’s length was sleek and rubbery, it slipped past Drift’s internal traction in a way a Cybertronian spike wouldn’t and its movements once inside were more fluid: rippling and buzzing inside Drift, exploiting his unfamiliarity. It was intense and unusual. The creature stilled itself, leaving its member in Drift and letting rhythm of his undulating valve milk out the steadily building pressure. The creature pumped into Drift the same amount of fluids it’d stuffed into Fortress Maximus. Evidence of its deposit was more pronounced on Drift’s body than Maximus’s at the time, but since Max’s first encounter with the Red Insect and every encounter with the purple insects since Fortress Maximus’s middle was strained. It looked hefty, so full and round. He cupped its swell in one hand while he steered another Purple Insect to his valve. 

            Drift’s body was undergoing a similar transformation. The fluids being squashed into his valve were plugged in, barely a trickle escaped down his thighs and the curve of his middle bulged rounder and rounder until Ratchet could see the taut sphere of metal tremble with stress.

            It was alarming, and Ratchet’s own instincts pushed him forward, sending signals of distress toward Drift in the clutch of the creature and back to the Lost Light, beckoning them for help.

            Ratchet hovered, trying to decide on the best way to intervene and in the time he delayed the sounds of Drift’s apparent desperation became fraught and Ratchet acted impulsively.

            His first attempt to wedge himself between Drift and the creature was weak, uncertain. Ratchet wasn’t sure what he was competing against and the creature remained solidly locked in Drift’s body, his member pressing Drift’s ceiling node and dripping.

            To force it out of Drift required a show of strength.

            As Ratchet came to stand over Drift, facing the creature, the Red Insect began to click with mounting aggression. Ratchet was taken aback, but persistent. He put his hands on the creature’s thick-set body and _pushed_ …

            The creature did not take kindly.

            With a shriek it lashed its fangs at Ratchet and over balanced him. He stumbled backward, doing his best to disburse his weight, but he still hit Drift hard.

            Ratchet’s landed heavily on Drift’s swollen stomach, a rush of fluids burst out of Drift’s valve. Ratchet saw it, smelled it, heard Drift moan. The splurge of fluid was thick and pearly, it clung to the shrunken length and twitching tentacles protruding from the Red Insect’s abdomen. Apparently Ratchet had had more of an impact than he realised, but the result was not as he’d planned and the creature’s lanky legs reached forward. Ratchet could his head locked in a death-grip.           

            Letting shock lower his jaw was a mistake as the Red Insect was eager to reintroduce its length to the first slick, wet hole it could find and finish unloading its reservoir of fluid.

            The phallus elongated as it stretched toward Ratchet’s mouth, and the accumulation of tentacles spiralled around its length, adding to the girth gradually as it pushed between Ratchet’s stretched lips.  

            The tapered end slid so easily into Ratchet’s throat. He moaned as he was made to gulp down mouthfuls of strange, pliant length until his nose was pressed to the creatures abdominals and his throat was stuffed before the creature had even began to thrust forward, jamming the entirety of its soft, shivering arousal into Ratchet and taking his mouth in place of Drift’s valve.

            Ratchet’s lips burned and pulled widest around the base of the creature’s member. When it thrust forward, it shunted Ratchet backward until Ratchet’s aft was teetering over Drift’s face. Drift’s heavy panting struck Ratchet’s aft indicating his position. Next Ratchet felt something touch him, caress him, nuzzle in-between his joints. Drift’s face. Ratchet groaned around the creature’s girth, sucking down the same maddening aphrodisiac that made the others lose control. It effect was equally potent when it absorbed into Ratchet’s energon stream, filling his mind with a haze of desperation. He wanted, oh Primus, he wanted so badly more than anything to be fragged. It was a blinding need and Ratchet didn’t even compute resisting.

            His lips squeezed around the girth of the Red Insect, his tanks were warming as they filled with the heady mixture of fluid being spilled inside. Ratchet moaned and gave in to his instincts. His interface rolled open, his spike swinging forward, full and thick and Drift immediately latched his hungry lips onto Ratchet nub and nibbled, stirring the lubricant oozing out of the walls of Ratchet’s valve to dribble forward and leak down Drift’s chin.

             Ratchet rocked between the two bodies, Drift and the Red Insect, enjoying the attention lavished upon him. Drift’s tongue had a similar texture to what the creature had pumped into Ratchet’s mouth. The tongue was malleable, but softer and worked harder to squeeze into Ratchet’s tightly clenched valve. The tension in Ratchet’s body was making it hard for him to concentrate. As even more of the thick, syrupy substance bloating Ratchet’s tank absorbed into his veins Ratchet’s weakness grew and his thighs sunk lower, smothering Drift’s face under his aft, riding his lips until the eye-watering sensations came close to overloading Ratchet.

            The creature removed itself before Ratchet peaked and it shocked Ratchet how deeply the Red Insect had wormed its way into his body. His tanks lurched and the contents followed the creature as it extracted itself, rubbing the sides of Ratchet’s throat tubing raw and flicking his lips with the tip of its length. Ratchet heaved and gasped and bowed forward, lifting off Drift face and giving him some air.

            A sputter of fluid from Ratchet’s mouth hit Drift’s thighs and as Ratchet continued to tremble, on the cusp of a startling overload, the creature stroked his face with the feelers protruding from its middle.

            Ratchet wasn’t ready for this to end. On his hands and knees he trembled, forgetting about duty and Fortress Maximus and where they were. Drift was writhing under him, gasping softly and awaiting his next turn. Ratchet experienced a similar sentiment.

            The Red Insect reared half its body and clicked at its other likenesses, beckoning a host of Purple Insects forward to pleasure the Red Insects’s leftovers

            Ratchet didn’t mind. He rolled off Drift’s body to get more space and fell like a heavy lump to one side. His body was limb and his spark was in tumult. He’d readily get onto his hands and knees if it meant having one of those creatures move inside of him and thoroughly sate the lust consuming him. But Ratchet was weak. He waited beside Drift, breathing hard, watching as the insects came to Drift first and one of them zealously pushed inside Drift’s valve making him howl.

            The sight was picturesque debauchery, Drift was tilted to the side, the front half of his body facing Ratchet and his hand clenching firmly his straining spike. Drift panted, his tongue dangled out of his mouth and a tendril of drool stretched toward the floor. Just as a Purple Insect took hold of Ratchet’s hips and yanked him into a pleasingly compromising position, he and Drift made eye contact and Drift beamed a warm, nonsensical smile. He tried winking, at which point the creature behind him jerked suddenly and Drift’s mirth turned to blissful wincing.

            The alien grasping Ratchet’s hips wasn’t as forceful as the others. They was an air of caution that suggested inexperience which Ratchet’s cravings didn’t care for. He needed something inside him. His entire body pulsed when it gingerly dragged its feelers between his valve lips, testing the space with maddening pokes and twitches that barely touched between Ratchet’s callipers.

            He balled his fists against the dirt, arched his back and lifted his aft higher, waiting and so, so ready. Every shudder his body made seemed to enrapture the Purple Insect’s curiosity. It tapped its legs over Ratchet’s sides and continued to tease him while Ratchet watched Drift taking more of the strange alien lengths in his hands, pulling on them while Fortress Maximus groaned needfully in the background.

            More aliens started to close in around Ratchet, the thought of taking so many in succession made him trembled.  His tank was still round and heavy with the Red Insect’s load and it weighed him down. He was so full already, but the concoction tainting his arousal made him greedy. Ratchet shoved his hips backward, and the tip of the creature’s length jerked inside him, hardly poking through his callipers, but Ratchet’s valve felt so needful it would surely entice the rest of the creature’s girth inside. Ratchet dearly wanted to feel the rest of the Purple Insect’s tendrils pattering against his aft… but wasn’t given the chance.

            There was a loud crack and all the creatures stilled. It happened very suddenly. As the roof of the cavern caved entirely the creatures scattered in an instant, twisting over each other to escape and retreating into their private domains as the ceiling collapsed and rays of sunshine spilled in.

            Rocks pounded the earth around them and Ratchet moaned. His mouth was dry and his body was left empty and unsatisfied.

            A wind swept in from above, bringing with it a shadow that darkened the cavern again. The others squirmed and startled, an inbuilt sense of indecency bringing their hands across their open interfaces as if to hide from whatever was coming. Ratchet tilted his head up and squinted into the stark sunlight. Above him, the silhouette of the Leading Light was slowly descending and Ultra Magnus would certainly wanting a report…          

           


	2. Chapter 2

Since their return, working up the courage to make eye contact with anyone had been a challenge. They were collectively ashamed of what they’d let the aliens do to them, but simultaneously, the thought of it made their valve squeeze in remembrance. 

There’d been no disguising their erotic misdemeanour from Ultra Magnus. Ratchet had to grudgingly explain the truth on behalf of all three of them. Ultra Magnus then rolled his eyes, he was disappointed but implied that they should remember he’d worked with Rodimus for a long time. Barely anything phased the Duly Appointed Enforcer anymore. He was immune. 

Ratchet, Fortress Maximus and Drift, however, had proven to be _not so_ immune. At least, they’d be able to live with themselves more contently, if not for a lasting side effect derived from being fragged by aliens. 

“Eggs.” Fortress Maximus repeated. It explained a lot. He hadn’t been feeling right for days, his middle was soft and pudgy, but he’d assumed that was an after effect of being so thoroughly stretched internally by the slimy ejaculate of many, many aliens. He wasn’t proud to say he'd let it happen, but Fort Max was glad it wasn’t only him looking a little _saggy_ around the middle. 

Ratchet nodded gravely. 

“Scans show all three of us have them. They’re infertile, but they’ll still need to come out eventually.” 

Drift breathed heavily into his hands and then practically inhaled his energon. The stress was making him twitchy, he didn’t understand why Ratchet would choose to have this meeting at Swerve’s where people _might_ possibly overhear. He assumed it was because Ratchet needed a drink to give him some courage, and Fortress Maximus would certainly need something stiff to stomach the news. 

“I still don’t like bugs.” Maximus reiterated, gasping after consuming the remains of his high grade in one huge gulp. The statement was hard to believe after having witnessed Fortress Maximus feverishly seat himself on an insect’s genitals over and over, but he couldn’t be judged. They were all in the same predicament, “So how’re we going to get them out?”

“I recommend inducing. If we arrange to reconvene in the medical bay within the next hour… hopefully, this will be as painless as possible.”

There was little choice in the matter. Fortress Maximus nodded and stood up gradually, his head was feeling heavy and disoriented by the news. A subconscious instinct made him cradle the brood of eggs nestled in his guts.

“Where’re you going?” Drift asked, pulling his head out of his hands. 

Fortress Maximus rolled his shoulders. 

“The wash racks. I feel like I need to be clean for this,” he groused. Ratchet dismissed him with a flippant wave of his hand. 

“Suit yourself, just don’t be late.” 

Fortress Maximus escaped Swerve’s and kept his helm hung low. He wandered the corridors feeling like a criminal and the horrible, churning nausea upsetting his tanks he assumed was apprehension… or so he hoped.

As soon as he stepped into the privacy of the shower cubical, Max turned on the solvent and a spray of heat splashed down on his plating lifting off him as steam when his core temperature began to rise. It was comforting to be cocooned in the white haze, it fogged up his optics and Maximus could barely see, reminding him of the delirium the insects’ aphrodisiac filled his head with: that blindness, that overwhelming, consuming need a part of him was desperate to have again. 

He’d be managing it by denying himself. Fortress Maximus thought that if he could just pretend to forget, then maybe the urges would subside, but how could he ignore his needs when a brood of those same aliens were growing inside him? Reminding Fortress Maximus constantly of what he wanted to do most. 

It was unsavoury and the stress was unbearable. Fortress Maximus heaved a mighty breath and braced his hands to the cool wall of the shower cubical, his hips and aft jutting out, back curved, shifting restlessly as gravity seemed to centre around his interface. Sinful, heavy, _gravid,_ Fortress Maximus tried not to picture what it would be like to be spread out over those strange, wonderful organic phallus’s again. He wouldn’t whimper at the memory of them spiralling in and out of him over and over…

_Wouldn't,_ but could, so easily if he dared.

Fortress Maximus chewed his gums. Behind his interface, his spike grew fuller in its sheath, but Max’s dignity pressured him to resist even though it caused him pain. The eggs inside of him were making their presence well known. Hard spasms tugged on his middle and Fortress Maximus was aware of a sudden _motion_ inside of him, like a surge toward his valve. At first he tried to blame paranoia, but the feelings - the unrelenting need to _push_ informed him that a process had been triggered. 

Surely he must be wrong, could it be all in his imagination? Ratchet had implied the eggs would need to be removed manually and Fortress Maximus considered twisting off the shower and waddling down to the medical bay immediately. But it felt too late, as if the eggs were already pushing at the lips of his valve, demanding exit, and if he tried to leave the shower cubical now there’d be a risk of them splashing out of him in the corridor. 

Fortress Maximus needed to be sure of his predicament. It didn’t take much for him to will his interface open, though his bloated spike remained in captivity despite it being a groaning relief as the pressure of so much slime plugged inside his valve was released. Fortress Maximus’s eyes grew. He wasn’t aware of what he’d been holding in. Each time he forewent self-servicing it didn’t absolve him of his arousal and the fluids stored inside thickened. Now, it dripped down his thighs and was quickly washed away by the flow of the shower, but still astonished Maximus. His hand shook as he reached between his legs and gingerly prodded his fingers against the swell of his valve lips.

Even fleeting contact made Maximus’s body jerk. Bullets of sensation travelled deeper inside him and Maximus recoiled, finding it too intense to proceed without groaning and alerting any others in the wash racks to his troubles. 

The heavy breaths leaving Fortress Maximus mingled with the vapour coiling around his body as the heat of the shower was made to climb steadily higher. Fortress Maximus attempted to relax himself, to let the heat absorb the tension in his body before slipping his hands down again for another attempt of tentative exploration. 

This time, Max went slower, mindful of his over sensitivity despite the strange bubbles of anticipation popping in his guts that urged him to be bold. He restrained himself, his fuel pump laboured hard in anticipation of crossing the boundaries of his valve. Max’s fingertips teased his nub gently first, massaging it with tenderness and care - the kind that made his legs shake and addled his inflated arousal until his body was quaking for more. Then Fortress Maximus dared to push forward and stroked between the lips of his valve. It surprised him to find it already stretched and mouthing pathetically around the shape of the first egg that had eagerly slipped down his canal. 

Fortress Maximus was startled. The suddenness of his reaction making the weight in his body shift and the eggs crammed into his valve pressed harder against his callipers.

“Slag,” Max breathed. He touched the smooth shell protruding between his callipers again, testing how solid it was and when he pressed harder the egg bent out of shape - his fingers leaving an impression in its organic surface. Fortress Maximus made an undignified sound. The egg didn't appear huge, but large enough to cause concern - a smaller ‘bot might strain to pass one, but Fortress Maximus’s size was an advantage.

He used the tips of his fingers to spread his valve, the egg immediately slid forward, to Max’s alarm, greased by a generous covering of Max’s own lubricants mixed with the strange alien ooze. It was happening too fast. Fortress Maximus snapped his fingers away from his valve and the callipers pinched closed around the widest part of the egg - trapping it half inside and half out of his tense and shaky body.

Max cursed again. His body was so stiff his neck ached when he tried to look down. He could just see the very tip of the egg peeping between his legs. Standing prevented Max from viewing any more, but the egg appeared to be pink and glossy with fluids, the same fluids that had been ejected over Fortress Maximus’s fingers…

He should’ve known better, but Fortress Maximus brought his fingers closer to his face and inspected them, marvelling at the pearlescent glow. It would’ve been easy to hold his hand under the spray of the shower, but Fortress Maximus removed the fluid with his tongue instead, dragging his tongue between his fingers where the collection was thickest. 

It tasted of nothing, but it clung to his lips, pale pink tendons of fluid extending between his fingers and himself. 

Fortress Maximus’s indulgence was unwholesome, but in privacy he felt unashamed of not resisting. He touched the egg protruding from his valve with more confidence, generating a spark of pleasure  by his experimenting with its gooey shape. Max was sure to keep one hand braced to the sleek wall of the cubical at all times, he needed its support desperately, especially when he plunged the egg back into his valve on glorious impulse. Its shape rammed upward, forcing what had gathered behind it up as well. 

Fortress Maximus’s eyes bulged out of his head. He had to release the egg and slap his hand over his mouth to stifle the howl he couldn’t bite back. Without support, the egg slumped forward again, retaking its position between Fortress Maximus’s callipers that it hadn’t quite stretched wide enough to break through. 

The shower solvent continued to cascade down Fortress Maximus’s body, trickling between nooks and crannies and across his thighs, the heat intensified the steady pounding of energon pulsing in his interface. Fortress Maximus mopped his brow and squeezed the egg between his fingertips again with a vice-like grip that wouldn’t become dislodged easily as he started pushing the egg inside then dragging it forward again, gravity and the contractions of his overloaded valve helped the egg slide in and out between Fortress Maximus’s callipers without ever leaving it valve entirely.The pattering of the shower solvent disguised the nauseating _schlurk!_ of the egg being pumped in and out of Fort Max’s valve. It felt sickeningly good, and Fort Max couldn’t possibly feel guilty for his perverse enjoyment as he fragged himself until a violent contraction stilled his hand.

Maximus’s valve gripped the egg tight. A mixture of exhaustion, arousal and uncomfortable fullness made Fortress Maximus turn and rest his back against the wall.

His middle felt tighter all of a sudden. A pressure brewing at the back of his valve surged downward producing a powerful, natural desire to push. 

Fortress Maximus slid down the wall, squatting until his knees were bent in a deep V shape. His hands squeezed his thighs as more than just the shower’s solvent wetted his body. He was getting hot and a desperate instinct made him act without thinking. 

His stomach shook and Maximus wheezed hard, stooping forward slightly and his aft touched the cold wall tiles behind him as Maximus gritted his teeth and strained, bearing down and expelling the egg with a heavy grunt.

It left him in a massive rush of fluids, Fortress Maximus felt lighter, but only for a moment, then the rest of the eggs stuffed inside came crashing forward as well, barely restrained by his weakened callipers. 

Fortress Maximus couldn't save himself from sinking to the floor, his legs sliding out in front of him along with the egg which, was carried by momentum and fluids and eventually balanced over the plug hole. Fortress Maximus stared at it, panting, rubbing his full stomach that had since become sensitive and sore. 

The egg was as Fortress Maximus expected it to be and marbled pink and white in colour. He touched the gaping mouth of his valve and between his lurid, aching lips felt the next egg align. It was ready to be ejected. 

Who knew how many more were wedged inside his body, and who knew how long it’d take to squeeze them all out?! A shuddered rocked Fortress Maximus and he at last extended his keen spike into his hands. There was no stopping what had already begun, but there was some interrupting it: an incoming call from Ratchet disturbed progress. 

Fortress Maxims groaned and relaxed himself before speaking heavily down the line. He’d stretched his legs out, they were so long his feet touched the opposite end of the stall and tugged on his spike twice, hard, before answering. 

“Ratchet?”

“There’s been a development.”

Fortress Maximus struggled not to sound out of breath.

“Yeah?”

“The eggs appear to be self-ejecting - have you noticed anything?” 

Fortress Maximus made a noise, his body suffered a sudden urge to push again and the sound Max made was synonymous to a moan and whine for mercy.

“Y-Yeah.”

“Can you come to the medical bay?”

“I…I think I’ve got everything under control…” to test his statement, Fortress Maximus’s valve twitched around the next egg. He decided it was ready to squeeze outside of his body. A preemptive drizzle of fluid oozed out of him alongside his efforts, greasing his valve to make the eggs’ passage easier. 

“You’re sure?” 

By now Fortress Maximus was desperate to get Ratchet off the line, he sounded strained and his middle seemed to be grumbling at him as if the eggs still trapped inside were knocking around on purpose, demanding his attention.

“Positive… I’ll come by later for a check up.”

Max was barely keeping it together. When the comm. line went dead he groaned aloud and the slump of his posture forced more of the eggs to compact close to the entrance of his valve. 

Fortress Maximus gritted his teeth, his face contorting in concentration as he flexed the mesh of his valve, subtly preparing his body to force out the eggs without his manual assistance. He stroked his spike to calm himself and rubbed his fingers over his nub: a bundle of nerve ending above his valve, for some reassurance. He’d already passed one egg, the rest would come easier (and so would Fortress Maximus) …he assumed. 

The pressure in his body rose rapidly, bringing a glow to his cheeks as Fortress Maximus wrestled the perverse whines of his body into an untold silence, but he couldn’t contain the roar of his ventilation system spitting gusts of air with a harsh power that disturbed the flow of the solvent dripping down on him. 

The first egg he'd fragged out of himself still sat over the drain, stifling the solvent's escape and soon it would be added to. Fortress Maximus dropped his knees further apart and stared down at the shape bulging out of the tortured lips of his valve. He flexed again and watched the egg pulse in and out of his aft like a spark beat while spluttering weak gouts of lubricant driven out by pockets of air rushing to the surface.

The speed of his hand stroking over his spike eased and the lack of attention provoked a wanton twitch and dollop of pre fluid to slid over his knuckles, but he needed the reprieve to regain some focus, and centre his concentration on the round shape budding between his legs while trying not to get too excited and let more than one egg escape at once.

It was a controlled experiment, Fortress Maximus abdomen cramped one moment then bulged out the next. The burning stretch of the egg sitting between the raw ring of puckered rubber cushioning Maximus’s valve was an exquisite pain his arousal confused with intense pleasure. Finally, anticipation broke Maximus’s control and natural reflexes bared down. The egg popped out of his valve, making a gross sound to accompany Fortress Maximus’s own, indistinct, irrepressible groan of satisfaction. 

With another mound shifted, the shape of his valve felt less distorted, but the eggs were squashed into an even smaller space, tainting Fortress Maximus’s desire to expel them with urgency. 

He released his spike entirely, letting the turgid girth lie against his middle and drizzle while Fortress Maximus grasped his thighs and hiked them higher, his aft slid across the floor and his shoulders hit the wall. His feet were off the ground now, supported in the air by the strength of his trembling knees. 

It felt more comfortable this way somehow, almost natural - but that would be the wrong description as forcing objects _out_ of a Cybertronian valve was anything but natural and possibly why the feeling would be so hard to replicate without risking injury. However, savouring the extraordinary squeeze and push wasn’t one of Fortress Maximus’s priorities. He was close to whimpering, the next egg was already pressed tightly to his swollen valve lips and Fortress Maximus squeezed the backs of his thighs hard enough to leave dents as his excessive, needful straining pushed the egg through the iris of his valve. It held him open for a moment, the stretch threatening to tear a channel open up to his nub. It was raw and exhilarating, but Fortress Maximus’s apprehension took over again and the egg was pushed free entirely, tumbling down and following the stream of solvent to the plug hole.

The substantial gape of his valve invited other eggs to collect in the channel and make a sudden burst for freedom. Fortress Maximus’s stomach cramped hard as egg after egg took advantage of his yawning valve. The shower became a shallow lagoon as their masses collected around the plug hole. Eventually, Fortress Maximus was so exhausted he couldn’t support his himself and continued slipping down the wall until his weight rested on his coccyxand then he collapsed, splashing into the puddle of shower solvent. 

The eggs continued to pour out of his valve rhythmically, Fortress Maximus barely flinching as they crowned and stretched him and then settled with the rest. He massaged the puffy lips of his valve in a circular motion, easing the passage of the eggs as the callipers of his valve suffered from the never ending contraction and expansion, mouthing across the eggs as they continued to drop out of Fortress Maximus’s valve stirring a friction that reawakened his spike:  it swelled and twitched in response. 

Fortress Maximus ignored the need for attention his loins pined for and continued to draw circles around the stretched ring of his valve, coaxing the next egg to break free. 

For what felt like hours, Fortress Maximus was on the brink of calling for assistance, but then and egg would bulge out of his body and in that instance of pleasure, Fortress Maximus was doped and uncaring.

 The shower was still pattering down on him, but the eggs blocked the solvent's escape and by now the liquid had burst through the banks of the cubical and was leaking into the gangway between the shower stalls. It wouldn’t be long before someone got suspicious. 

As Fortress Maximus’s exhausted processor agonised over the implication of being discovered spread-legged in the wash racks, he started to notice that the succession at which the eggs squelched out his valve had slowed. Since the last one lazily dropped free a significant amount of time had passed. Every second felt like an age. Fortress Maximus was grasped painfully in the clutches of suspense and nervous agony and then he naively dared to hope that there were no more eggs left in him.

To make that assessment, Fortress Maximus needed a sense of certainty.

He touched inside himself, hissing softly. He was sore inside. Every beleaguered sensor seemed to shy away from his investigative self-servicing. So far, so good. No eggs, but he’d only stretched into the first knuckle. With cautious anticipation, he stroked deeper, curling his fingers in a way that couldn’t be described as tactful, but he struck a bundle of sensors and another warm rush of lubricant came surging forward. Fortress Maximus continued his tentative exploration, being particularly kind to his aching valve, making every moment slow, scratching further and further into seemingly endless emptiness. 

His fingers dug so deep his palm was flush against his nub and then Fortress Maximus discovered _it_ : the last egg. 

A wave of sudden panic washed over him, flushing his cheeks and neck again. 

Maximus squirmed a bit, and scratch at the egg inside, willing it to submit to the reflexive undulation of his valve mesh and slip free. 

The stubborn egg remained lodged in the recess of Maximus’s agitated valve adamantly refusing to come unstuck even after Fortress Maximus had began spearing his fingers into his wildly clenching orifice, urging the egg to dislodge. 

It was stuck and so was he. 

The life in his spike faded quickly as a sheen of fear wetted his body. It was washed aside quickly by the misdirected flow of the solvent gushing from above. Fortress Maximus shakily got back to is feet and reached for the shower head, unhinging the appliance while it was still bubbling liquid. 

Urgency wobbled his hand, but the solvent eventually arrived at his valve - the sensation of so much heat striking his oversensitive array was at first blinding and Fortress Maximus held the shower head at a distance at first before he adjusted and pressed the instrument closer, hoping to flood his valve and flush the troublesome egg out, or at the very least provided with some extra lubrication to soften its trail. 

The volume of fluid steadily jetting into his valve distended its shape. Fortress Maximus could feel the bulge of pressure growing against his armour. If it meant releasing the egg he was willing to push his body to its greatest extremes, but was forced to release the fluids when his instincts warned him he was on the verge of bursting. 

The solvent exited him providing some quick relief, but the egg didn’t immediately free fall and by now, in Fortress Maximus’s panic, he'd become so tense he could feel the round, malleable shape sandwiched between the spongy mesh of his frightened valve. 

It took two more attempts with the shower head, all the while Fortress Maximus muttered a desperate litany: 

" _Please, please, please, **please!**_ "

He hosed plentiful amounts of fluid into his valve and watching it all gush out, failing to bring the egg forward, before Fortress Maximus feared he’d been defeated and sought out professional assistance.

The mess he’d left in the wash rack: the abundance of eggs crowding the drain and the swirls of inconspicuous fluids floating on the surface of the solvent were too abominable to leave behind, but Fortress Maximus was in dire condition. He didn't have a choice! Every moment he waited was a moment fear made his valve clench tighter. The egg's shape was becoming more and more prominent inside of him - one solitary object causing Maximus misery. 

He twisted off the shower and splashed out of the cubical, making a concerted effort to cover his tracks before leaving the facility. Max jammed the cubical door shut and smashed the lock on the outside to prevent anyone from walking in. He tested its stability with an unkind nudge and hoped the door’s stiffness would be enough to deter from entering and urge them onto the next cubical. 

Despite closing his interface, Fortress Maximus still felt like the engorged elephant roaming the corridors, lurching ungainly toward Ratchet’s medical bay with his hands covering his imagined nakedness. 

Mortification and unbeatable arousal deepened the shade cast over his face and Maximus kept his head down, avoiding eye contact and acknowledgement for seven floors until he at last barrelled into the medical bay. 

The room with eerily still.

He didn’t care that the sign above Ratchet’s private office was illuminated in a deterring red light and spelled _“Engaged”_ Fortress Maximus was suffering a crisis he knew was surely more important than anyone else’s and barged into the office without knocking. 

He was met by a scene - one he’d not been expecting. 

Eggs were everywhere: littering the floor and stacked up on the berth, which was in the middle the room. Upon the berth Drift was kneeling… and so was Ratchet. 

Drift held Ratchet by the hips, his groin shifting unsubtly against Ratchet’s aft that was pointed up eagerly. 

They stared at Maximus and he stared at them, oddly unashamed for gawking, but he was totally uninterested in what they were doing. Another spasm cut across his stomach and Fortress Maximus was close to doubling up. 

“One’s stuck,” he said as if it was the only explanation he needed to give and without lifting off Drift’s spike, Ratchet signalled Maximus forward. 

“Come here, open up… I’ll see what I can do.” 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eggs, dratchet and vomit - thought I'd better warn ye

The news of the alien infestation had been pretty sour tasting to Drift. Out of the three off them, he’d taken least kindly to learning there were potentially dozens of eggs slowly growing inside of him. Like Fortress Maximus, Drift had been feeling that something was amiss for days. The eggs had been swelling inside him, their size and the pressure they put on his other organs was becoming more obvious - as if Drift’s insides were being forced to make way for his new additions as they spread his protoform. 

“Ratchet,” Drift groaned, sounding a little queasy. It must’ve been the bad news. Ratchet had been sipping his high grade with an air of poignant contemplation about him, his eyes slowly looked to Drift.

“Are you okay? You seem pale.”

“I’m not sure…could be nothing, but I’m…I’m feeling lightheaded.”

Ratchet made a sound: a grunt of concern tinged with the disappointment of abandoning half a cube of high grade to go cold. But he was unwilling to take any chances. Ratchet helped Drift stand and shortly after, Drift’s expression crinkled as the pistons in the left half of his body cramped. A slow building ache to seized his middle. It made Drift cringe in on himself: crumpling. He gripped Ratchet’s hand hard, stopping them in the middle of the room. 

“On second thought,” Drift’s ventilation systems were weeping breaths laced in mist, “maybe we should go straight to the medical bay.” 

Ratchet grunted his agreement, straining to keep Drift afloat as they staggered the corridors. He didn’t want to declare this a medical emergency and involve First Aid, Ratchet should imagine that Drift wouldn’t want anyone else involved either. They struggled to the medical bay growing more dependant on each other with every step. Ratchet’s vents dumped heat just as quickly as Drift’s, but he aimed to keep himself composed and shunned the stirring in his middle as if it didn’t exist. He was old, it was a reaction to exercise. Whatever was happening to Drift, it seemed to be progressing a lot quicker through his systems than it did through Ratchet’s.

Drift halted suddenly in the corridor, his knees chattering together. He made lewd sounds and Ratchet hissed at him to stay quite. But returning any subtly to the nature of Drift’s ails was abolished the moment Drift groped between his thighs in public, cupping the burning area between his thighs.

“I’m sticky!” Drift cried out. The distress the declaration stirred in Ratchet was spark-shaking. He wrestled Drift the rest of the way to the medical bay, trying to disguise how Drift pawed at his interface in an attempt to soothe it. Once they’d stumbled into their blessedly empty sanctuary Drift budded off from Ratchet’s side, feverishly massaging his hand over the curve of his middle, it had been subtly stretched by the erratic shifting of the bulbous brood inside him. Their motions weren’t extreme, or rapid, it was actually the torpidity of their natural progression toward Drift’s valve that was causing him the discomfort. They squeezed bubbles of air into tight spaces, the pain it caused was surreal and made Drift feel frantically trapped in his own body.

“What’s the matter, Drift?” Ratchet came closer again, noting that Drift’s trembling hands were fiddling with the clasps that strapped armour to his midsection. 

“I need this off!” he sounded suddenly irritable, the demands of his body fraying his temper. Viewing Drift from the side, there was barely any sign of extra weight building in Drift’s prototform, his armour restrained the symptoms well, denying the evidence except a for telltale shiver and flushed cheeks.

Ratchet crouched and helped Drift jiggle loose the ill-fitting armour. As soon as the panel was free the features of an egg infestation lurched forward: Drift’s distended stomach, swollen with a clutch of dud offspring that still inherited some feisty instincts. Ratchet reared back into his heels making sounds of genuine astonishment while Drift quaked in relief. The unleashing of his midsection sent of wave of impulse to his spike that pulsed into a straining thickness, curving to the low-hanging shape of Drift’s stomach. 

“Sorry,” he warbled, face screwed up tight. 

Ratchet was breath-taken. His mouth turned dry and absorbed his words. He was mesmerised by the sight and clung to Drift’s armour like a frightened intern on their first day of the job. Even with all his experience such a phenomenon was rarely witnessed and after the initial horror subsided, Ratchet was taken by an urge to touch. With care, he flattened his palm over the soft curve, feeling the buzzing of dozens of eggs squeezed inside all jostling for position. The curve itself was quite firm and at present, Ratchet imagined it would be a challenge to wrap his arms around Drift and have them meet on the other side.

Such a notion inspired Ratchet more than he’d ever believed it would and he conjured a fantasy of pushing Drift onto his hands and knees with his belly swinging below as they fragged rough. Though he forcefully and frequently reminded himself that this was a medical emergency, the appearance of Drift’s spike was a poorly timed distraction. 

“Come on, get to my office.” Ratchet lugged Drift and his extra weight across the room, wondering how long it’d be before he also started to exhibit similar symptoms. So far, Ratchet felt that his temperature regulation was malfunctioning and his tanks swashed back and fore, it wasn’t nearly as dramatic as the feverish anticipation Drift displayed the moment he entered Ratchet’s office. 

With his belly swinging ungainly ahead of him, Drift galloped to the free berth and clambered on, readily assuming the classic position. Drift was on his back, propped upright by the support of his elbows. The slight bend to his spine pressed the writhing clutch of eggs closer to his valve and Drift was already panting hard. 

“They wanna come out, Ratch’” Drift flung his head back. Ratchet immediately fussed about the office, his priority: setting the sign screwed above the door to read  _Engaged._ Next, as he reshuffled the room, Ratchet contacted Fortress Maximus. 

He was made to wait. The tone of the comm. system droning on and on with no answer. Ratchet came to stand ahead of Drift, staring down the length of his body. He could only see Drift’s finials twitched over the horizon of his stomach. 

“Ratchet?” Fortress Maximus breathed heavily down the line. Ratchet could hear distortion in the background that sounded vaguely like liquid. 

“Max!” Ratchet squawked, watching Drift’s knees drop apart revealing between thick thighs and equally appealing valve, ripe with the shape of the first egg pressing against its opening, “There’s been a development, the eggs are self-ejecting. Have you noticed anything yourself?”

Ratchet needn’t have asked, he could tell by Fortress Maximus’s ungentle urgency to cut the comm. line that Fortress Maximus was already experiencing the unorthodox pleasure of having his valve ripple and relieve itself of eggs. Fortress Maximus swore he had everything under control and Ratchet wasn’t given a choice - he had to believe him. The situation Drift faced trapped Ratchet in the medical bay, preparing his office with sweaty palms. Two stirrups were kicked up from the bottom of the bed and Drift’s ankles found a comfortable but compromising position in them, unsecured for now. Drift cared little for modesty when the desperate, carnal heat inside his spark was making his valve squeeze and shiver. Most of Drift’s weight rested on his lower back giving him an opportunity to test how ready the eggs were to emerge. It was only a slight twitch, but the spasms from doing so shook his body hard. It was an alarming burn, and exhilarating pain and Drift’s valve felt too weak to do any more work even though it had only just begun. The first egg was like a pearly jewel crowning between his thighs. Ratchet salivated more quickly as he continued to watch the egg bulge between Drift’s callipers, flutter, and then get sucked back. 

On the third attempt, Drift howled. The stirrups hiking his legs apart creaked as he came close to thrashing in distress. The tension in his body was becoming more pressurised, it made his cheeks hot. 

“Ratchet,” Drift croaked, squinting over the trembling hemisphere of his stomach to where he could see Ratchet gawking at his interface looking morbidly fascinated, “It hurts, Ratch’ I don’t think I can do this.” Drift whined, reaching down, between his legs and toggled with his nub - the inflated node stung when he touched it, he was unprepared for the stretch of the egg pushing at his valve caused, it made the surrounding area ache. The fullness inside Drift kept fighting downward, all of it ready to force its way to freedom. The only obstacle was Drift’s callipers: so tight and tender, the rest of his valve was adjusted, rippling around the individual shapes of eggs stacked on top of each other, but his entrance needed to be persuaded open. 

“You want me to help, Drift?” Ratchet leaned on the berth, like a race horse champing at the gate, waiting for Drift’s signal to climb onboard. 

Drift looked so innocent when he consented, a dubious nod full of trust but tainted with fear and Ratchet’s eyes were hungry - a shared look between lovers and not a doctor and patient. Ratchet restrained himself from immediately rushing at Drift’s valve and ravishing the succulent pseudo-fresh by sucking it between his teeth and lapping up the strange white fluid oozing out of Drift’s valve along side the egg. He dipped into his medical toy box, bringing items to the berth he hoped would aid the eggs passage, but the aesthetic was also highly pleasuring. 

Drift sighed in lust and reverence, thrusting his valve at the finger Ratchet laid upon his nub. 

“You’re going to have to open up a lot more than this, kid,” next he tested the egg peeking through Drift’s valve, pushing on it so, so gently, but still making Drift keen.

“Please, Ratchet!” Drift flopped back and grunted, the weight of the eggs seated deeply inside him crushing Drift to the berth. The heat inside him grew and Drift’s spark pulse throbbed in his interface adding his own lubricants at last to the thin trickles of slime the eggs secreted. But he’d need more than just slime- as Ratchet saw.  

A generous dollop of lubricant was pushed into Ratchet’s palm - almost half of the tube and when the faintly smelling artificial goop was spread precisely across Drift’s valve lips, Drift spike twitched. The ointment was cold, a very strong contrast against the raging heat tingling all over his groin, like needles. Ratchet massaged his finger around and around Drift’s entrance, slackening the stubborn elasticity holding Drift closed. 

In the stirrups, Drift’s feet curled. It was an extrinsic delight: foreign pressure forcing forward from the inside and the persistent pleasure Ratchet inflicted on the out. Ratchet’s own valve twitched in sympathy as Drift’s was beginning to look lurid and sore. 

“Push now, Drift, it wants to come out.” 

Taking a deep breath, Drift did as Ratchet said, heaving and forcing every muscle into actionwhile he gurned and made sounds that confused Ratchet’s arousal, but the sight of Drift’s valve feebly opening around the egg was making his spike very solid indeed. 

“That’s it, Drift.” Ratchet breathed, watching in reverence, even the lone bead vapour slowly crawling down Drift’s thigh was admired. Ratchet licked his lips, finally resting both of his sticky hands against Drift’s groin and dipping his thumbs deeply into tangled circuitry. Drift gasped, rolling his body into the massage, optics white with delirium induced static. 

His valve spluttered a mixture of fluids and the egg peeped forward again, nosing open Drift’s valve with determination, a cool lick fresh air gave the egg a taste for freedom and it surged forward again, the widest segment of its shape stretching through Drift’s callipers until half of it was jutting outside of him.

“Just cut it out, Ratch’!” Drift sobbed, his fists crashing against the berth. 

“Nearly there!” 

Drift squeezed again, the swell of his middle crumpling slightly in his prolonged effort.

The first egg was finally free. Drift was awash with relief just as a rush of lubricant that had been dammed behind the egg rinsed free. The berth beneath him was practically sodden, a puddle seeped under Drift’s aft and flowed toward the edges of the berth. It continued to stream forth until the next egg dropped into position and stemmed the flow and Drift’s body clenched up again, the tendons in his thighs tightening.

Ratchet praised him gloriously, and when Drift appeared timorous and embarrassed with colour in his cheeks Ratchet reassured him by pumping his spike and the regret squeezed out of Drift as prefluid. 

“You’re doing good.” 

“R-Really?” Drift’s voice was shaking and then the next spasm dragged the slight look of relief off his face. He cringed hard. 

“I can’t do this again, Ratch’”

“Yes, you can.”

“No,” Drift winced, “It feels _bigger!_ ” and Drift was so sore - the kind of pulsating sensation that threatened to split him in two if he didn’t prepare himself better. Drift touched himself, gingerly, whimpering as his fingers slipped through the slurry oozed between his legs. 

Ratchet eased back and scooped up the fresh egg as well, he thought deeply while he surveyed Drift’s valve and when he set the first egg aside for convenience he returned with another tool to help make Drift’s experience more tolerable. 

Drift eyed the speculum with caution. It wasn’t the first time he’d encountered such a device, but he recalled the keen sting of having such a contraption inserted inside him and how much he’d hoped never to encounter such an object again… at the time. Now, with Ratchet, his perception of the device changed. Without prompting, Drift found himself allowing his thighs to flop further open, his aft unclenched, but his spark still beat unevenly - pumping cold trepidation through his veins. 

“It’ll help,” Ratchet assured, stroking Drift’s knee in confidence, “Try to relax.” 

More lubricant was sleeked over the smooth body of speculum making it catch the room’s sterile white light and wink flirtatiously at Drift, sending a coy message to Drift’s valve that made him itch. The egg seated behind his entrance resisted the speculum’s attempts to enter, but Ratchet’s hand was persistent. He wedged the beak of the instrument inside Drift, it was just enough to begin slowly twisting the arms of the speculum apart with special care. The mouth of Drift’s valve yawned open and was held agape. It made Drift fidget, at least the spreading and expelling of the first egg had been temporary, the feeling subsided, but this position was more permanent and Drift fought to adjust. 

“Breathe, Drift,” Ratchet began stroking Drift’s spike again, swiping his thumb over the moistened tip that had been cutting into Drift’s middle. The volume congested in Drift’s guts, the mass that was eager to squash out of his valve made his protoform hang low and suffocate his spike under its bulk.

With the added give worked into Drift’s callipers, the egg: visibly larger than the first one teased Drift’s entrance again, still too huge to squeeze past the speculum’s efforts.

“Frag! Frack! Ratchet!” Drift’s body seized up, the eggs seemingly rumbling inside. Profuse amounts of lubricant smattered Drift’s thighs, every effort to push out the egg spluttering  more barely useful fluid, “Do something!” Drift’s labour was making him desperate. He pinched and pulled roughly on his nub unsure of what it would achieve, but Drift was craving release and playing with himself felt good. His other hand dug into his bloated stomach, he could feel the impressions of eggs shifting under his palm.

“I could stretch you wider”-

“Do it!” Drift didn’t hesitate, the consequences weren’t important t o him. He pictured his valve swollen and sloppy, dumping eggs by the second without friction or pain and the idea was so appealing to him, Drift’s spike suddenly heaved in climax spitting transfluid all over the underside of his shivering belly.

Ratchet watched it all, overwhelmed. The speculum was squeezed by Drift’s callipers, jerked haphazardly by his body’s reaction to reject foreign stimuli. Before convulsions could undo progress, Ratchet prodded his fingers into thespace the speculum had stretched open. He could feel the egg surging inside and hooked his fingers against the roof of Drift’s valve. It was only after the haze of climax slowly ebbed away that Drift could feel the curling motions of Ratchet's fingers scratching slackness into the membrane. Ratchet' other hand rested on Drift’s round stomach. 

It would be soothing, if not for the spasms that interrupted Ratchet’s work. The shivers pinched Ratchet’s fingertips and Drift whimpered, anticipating the next turn of the speculum’s dilator.

Ratchet eased the device wider again, warning Drift to relax or else opening Drift’s valve around his fingers would hurt. It was an unsubtle feeling. At once Drift was aware of a burn tingling at the points in his valve where his lips were stretched the most: the top and bottom. Drift quibbled a sound less brazen that a sob but just as emotional. 

Ratchet hushed him, the circles he rubbed over Drift’s stomach becoming more pressing and firm. The eggs inside were encouraged downward, putting pressure on the blockage stalling their passage out of Drift. 

Another a terrible cramping tugged on Drift’s middle. His valve flexed and squeezed managing to only splutter out thick globs of lubricant that drizzled across Ratchet’s hand. 

“You can do it, Drift.” He stimulated Drifts nub and watched how Drift’s body stirred, the egg was forced against the cool, steel shape of the speculum, bulging steadily between its jaws. “Nearly there.” 

Drift thrashed his head from side to side, feeling so weak. His body acted instinctually, producing more lubricant, convulsing, doing everything it could to rid itself of the foreign intruders, but it wasn’t enough. 

Drift saw Ratchet’s hand drop to the speculum again. 

“No, no Ratchet, I don’t think I can.” 

Ratchet paused for a moment and gave Drift a chance to suck in some air before increasing the girth of the speculum, over time it had steadily progressed to one of its widest settings for mech’s of Drift’s size. The effect was noticed.  

Without restraint Drift yelled. Flecks of vapour spouting through his gusting vents. Drift was wrecked by the torture of having his insides stretched to violation and then Ratchet gripped his hand and shifted further down the berth to Drift’s beside. 

“Yes, you can, Kid, it’ll be over soon…then it’s my turn.” Drift saw mock laughter and wild fear mix in Ratchet’s expression and moaned loud. 

Judging by how little resistance there was when Ratchet fanned his fingers inside Drift’s valve, Drift imagined that, right now, the whole of Ratchet’s whole fist was capable of fitting inside him: clenched and thrusting forward and back, pounding Drift into another overload. 

Filthy wet sounds throbbed in Drift’s audios as Ratchet worked tirelessly at his valve, rubbing the last of the tension away so that when he finally slipped the speculum free, Drift’s lax valve moulded to the shape of the egg and didn't immediate snap closed. 

The cold claws the speculum disappearing made Drift’s squeak. The stirrups were shaken by Drift’s surprise and now that all of the resistance had been robbed from Drift’s interface the huge, troublesome egg crowned. 

Ratchet’s face lit up, spark shaking with hope, he squeezed Drift’s hand hard. 

Drift’s valve was swollen around the egg. It looked livid and painful, but finally the widest part of the egg was pushing through the callipers, urged on by the restless, minute thrusts of Drift’s hips. 

The egg popped free and Drift cried in relief. Bliss. He turned his face into Ratchet’s shoulder and nuzzled weakly.

“No more,” he whimpered, vents weeping hot, shaky breaths. But there would be more and Drift knew it, already he could feel a shift in pressure as the next egg came tumbling forward and battered against his valve. His body twitched pathetically, the buzz in his interface muted by wet, torpid _slurp_ of fluids bubbling out his body along with the next, less resistant egg. He was so lax he could no longer resist. Thankfully.  Drift’s stomach rumbled and he patted it, his tired optics dimming as the passage of eggs through his stretched sphincter of rubbery fibre became more regular and Ratchet was forced to hurriedly scoop the eggs aside as the continued to be dumped one by one out of Drift’s slack body. 

Drift hummed Ratchet’s name as he lazily toyed with his nub. The little cluster of nerves had swollen to be plump and sore after so much stretching. 

“Help me, Ratchet.” There was already another egg peeping curiously through Drift’s valve. So many had since come forward that the shape of Drifts stomach was less solid. It had become flatter and lumpy, slowly deflating. 

A hunger lit in Ratchet’s spark , his tanks somersaulted with a desire that consumed him slowly from the inside. He put himself between Drift’s legs again, nudging aside a slight mound of eggs with his forearm and then grabbed Drift’s limp spike. 

He squeezed. Drift’s aft bounced as he begged Ratchet to be gentle, but didn’t immediately expect Ratchet to then engulf his girth entirely. 

Drift felt Ratchet’s lips press to his groin, the whole of his soft spike lying across the curve of Ratchet’s tongue as Ratchet swallowed repeatedly, spilling saliva over Drift’s groin that dripped down slowly and mingled with the other fluids squeezed through the gape of Drift’s tired valve. 

“Ah!” Drift’s hand pressed down on Ratchet’s head, his hips bucking sharpish until the size of his spike was pressing into Ratchet’s intake, then Drift stilled, savouring how he grew and filled Ratchet’s mouth. The biolights dressing Drift’s spike caught under Ratchet’s teeth and flickered, he could see them shine each time Ratchet parted his lips for air between suckling. 

The energon pounding around Drift’s interface was quickly drawn into his spike, Ratchet could feel it throbbing under his tongue and moaned. The sensual vibrations of sound helping another egg to pass into the world with a pop.

Drift felt thoroughly defiled. Every indulgence brought him more gratification and Drift felt unwholesomely dirty, but too good to stop.

Ratchet kneaded Drift’s belly, taking perverse pleasure in the sound Drift’s body made in response. It was unprofessional, but Ratchet had already decided he’d let Drift frag him after he was done squeezing out alien eggs. Drift was due a reward for his efforts and Ratchet would gladly be his prize. If Drift’s profuse shaking was an indication of his arousal then they were both certainly in for a good time.

“Stop Ratchet!” Drift cried out suddenly. Ratchet left Drift’s spike standing in the cold, drool and pre fluid smeared across his chin. Drift’s face clenched up tight, he held his thighs apart, fingertips inching toward the saggy shape of his valve. It was all bent and puckered. “This is it!” Drift breathed through his nose, “The last egg.”

“Y-you’re sure,” sucking spike always made Ratchet’s voice deep and husky, it was the sound of fervour and it turned Drift on. 

Drift was quite sure he was correct and nodded. There was nothing left behind the final egg to urge it out of his valve and Drift began straining hard, using his fingers to hold himself apart as the last egg inside slid through his callipers, released ina gush of fluids. 

Ratchet watched Drift’s valve twitch after the egg left him attempting to tighten up and failing. It fluttered weakly, each infinitesimal movement spluttering more of the slimy surplus the eggs had produced. 

“Are you just going to stare at me?” Drift panted, hooded, lazy eyes flicking between his spike and Ratchet’s charming expression. But then a thought occurred to Drift and he mustered the energy to frown, “Wait, what about your eggs?”

Aside from some light-headedness Ratchet had found little evidence to suggest his eggs were on the verge of breaking free of his body at that moment. But he could be wrong. The only feelings of need addling his interface at present were those that concerned Drift. 

“Must’ve made them too comfortable, maybe they need some convincing to come out.” 

Ratchet wasn’t _showing_ as Drift had been, the swell of his midriff barely touched his armour and there was nothing visibly amiss on the surface. It was indescribable. Ratchet felt unbalanced and at odds with his surrounding, but he wasn’t incapable or overcome by a desire to squeeze the eggs out of his interface like an organic in the throws of heat. 

The nature of the eggs he carried was encumbered with was a mystery that Ratchet would gleefully solve on his hands and knees in the hope of triggering their release. 

They arranged themselves on the berth. After disentangling Drift from the stirrups, Drift's groin throbbed with achy pulses of feeling journeying to his legs. He didn’t want to lie down any longer, but was too weak to stand so Drift knelt, braced against Ratchet’s hips, dragging his spike through the mess between Ratchet’s thighs. 

Drift prone and stretched was too difficult to watch without becoming aroused. Ratchet was guilty of fondling himself during those spare moments and lustily imagining what it might be like to rut against Drift’s buoyant stomach and crush his nub against. But the shape of Drift’s middle had now sadly collapsed into a more respectable size. It was saggy and would again comfortably fit into Drift’s armour when he chose to get redressed. For now, Drift’s concern was Ratchet and how much he wanted him. 

He teased the medic, donating a reprieve to himself to catch his breath while Ratchet’s aft dribbled a small offering of lubricant to help ease Drift’s passage into his body.

Ratchet grunted heavily. Carnal desire had overcome rationale and with one stroke Drift was in, clutched in the ripples of Ratchet’s valve. He collapsed forward, snapping his hips, fingertip digging into Ratchet’s plating in an attempt to support himself.

“Oh, frag me!” Ratchet bellowed, shoving himself into the body clinging to his aft. Drift whimpered his approval. Every sloppy thrust making them grunt and keen and beg for overload. It was their only interest, and then, just as Drift felt a crest of energy peek inside his spark Ratchet’s body seized tightly around him.

Drift stopped moving, distracted by strange, rolling convulsions rippled across Ratchet’s back.

“Are - are you overloading?” Drift panted, a bead of perspiration falling off the end of his nose. Ratchet didn’t answer, but his entire frame started to wobble, his valve giving Drift a frightened little squeeze.

“Ratchet?!” Drift squawked again hearing a peculiar sound: like gagging.

Ratchet stopped breathing, his eyes bulged out of his head as whatever had been festering in his tanks was forced out _through his mouth!_

He felt the shape travel up his gullet, ahead of it’s arrival flowed the hideous taste of bile. When it reached his mouth, Ratchet’s cheeks bulged. The egg rolled onto his tongue: it was malformed, spongey, not at all like the bulbous monsters that had threatened to rupture Drift’s organs, but was still equally foul to expel.

“Oh my Primus!” Drift was horrified. An egg was sitting on the berth, shiny with drool and just as Drift’s hands fell from Ratchet’s hips he made the CMO bark:

“Don’t you dare stop fragging me!”

“But Ratchet”-!

“Don’t! The momentum is helping push them out just…” Ratchet swallowed a nasty gout of air , “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

With trepidation, Drift complied, his spike suddenly feeling less enthusiastic to meet Ratchet’s demands to be fragged harder when every plea was accompanied by a sickening squelch at the wrong end.

Ratchet reached between his legs and gave his spike a squeeze. Another egg was rolling up his oesophagus. These partially formed duds were easier to expel than the fat horrors Drift had birthed and Ratchet belched another onto the pile growing beneath his chin. 

The constant spasms of sickness and nauseating sway of his body was making Ratchet dizzy. He continued pulling on his spike, using pleasure to supersede the discomfort of another slurry of egg muck spewing forward. 

Drift began stroking Ratchet's back, it was a considerate gesture. Whenever he feared Ratchet could be in distress Drift made as little movement as possible. He waited for the ‘thumbs-up’ and then continued ploughing his hips into Ratchet’s aft, the sound of metal ringing in conjunction to the _schlurk!_ and spitting. 

As Ratchet’s mouth filled with partially digested spheres he supposed he should’ve expected this. As revolting as it was, the expulsion of eggs through his oral cavity made a lot of sense considering that was main orifice that piqued the alien insect’s interests. 

Ratchet spluttered curses aimed at himself for being naive and drooled slush down his chin. The burn in his tank washed away by the churning motion of digestive fluids, sifting through his meals in search of more eggs to purge from his system. A few times he heaved dry, the fractions of eggs inside him had downsized to a spittle of crystallised chunks floating in a boat of mucus. It was not appetising, but Ratchet preferred it as it was easier to shift. 

This was the scene Fortress Maximus walked in on. Two mechs grappling on the medical berth. Drift froze immediately and grabbed Ratchet’s hips, yanking Ratchet close in a protective statement while inadvertently wedging his spike against Ratchet’s throbbing ceiling node. The contact made Ratchet's spike twitch. 

Fortress Maximus’s posture throbbed with forbidding. He didn’t care what he’d just walk in on, by the look of him the eggs expanding out of his body had worked him into a similar state of confused arousal. There was a sense of shame in what they were doing, but none of them were keen to acknowledge it. They’d confront it later, when other priorities weren’t so vexing to their bodies.

Ratchet called Maximus over. The huge mech waddled, his interface exposed and his spike swung between his legs with every heavy step. 

“It’s stuck,” Max repeated, whining at Ratchet. The berth creaked as Ratchet continued to shift his weight up and down Drift’s engorged spike. 

“You don’t mind if I…” Ratchet made a very provocative gesture with his fingers and Fortress Maximus briefly glanced to Drift, seeking some sort of consent. 

Drift stared Fortress Maximus in the face and fragged Ratchet’s aft hard, twice, jolting Ratchet’s body down the berth then heaving it back. His toothy smile was wicked and Fortress Maximus felt a different kind of heat prickle across the back of neck. He felt challenged, and undertook the same look. Standing with his kneecaps resting on the rim of the berth Fort Max encouraged Ratchet to proceed.

“You may.”

Ratchet had a particularly dexterous hand. He stretched inside Fortress Maximus slowly, touching at very specific points in his mechanisms, provoking the valve to flutter.

At once Fortress Maximus felt a shiver of arousal stir in him and shameless held onto his spike, keeping his contact with Drift frequent as he stroked over his arousal and brought his spike throbbing back to attention. It stood full and thick, leaking fluid over Ratchet’s head.

When Ratchet felt the patter of that peculiar rain, Ratchet glanced up and another pearly dollop of pre fluid splashed his cheek. Fortress Maximus struggled not to look terrified, worrying his overconfidence had been a mistake. He wanted the egg out of him so badly, he grovel if need be. But Ratchet smeared the fluid off his face and lapped it off his fingers.

“I see how it is,” he drawled, shifting back, “You wanna overload the egg out of you? Hoping the fluids and the convulsions will knock it out?”

Fortress Maximus blushed. 

“Couldn’t hurt to try,” Max nearly whimpered when Ratchet curled his fingers against a swollen interior node. It felt exceeding good to feel someone else’s lips wrap around his spike and Ratchet wasn’t preoccupied with looking graceful. He slurped and suckled, forcing more into his mouth between every breath and Fortress Maximus’s expression boarded on a vision of rapture. His valve had never felt so fresh and hungry for fingers, the egg nestled at the back was gradually starting to twist…

Ratchet was quite certain there was nothing left in his tank to disgorge and heedlessly swallowed more than just a mouthful of Fortress Maximus spike. The eggs had prepared him well enough. Ratchet felt a gleeful sense of pride each time the twitching bulge of Fortress Maximus girth went on a deeper adventure, forcing Ratchet’s throat to swell to its shape. He felt gluttonous: fondling himself with one hand, drooling bodily fluid over the mechs fragging him and plunging his fingers in and out of Fortress Maximus’s sloppy valve. It was as much as Ratchet could hope to get and as the energy expanding within him tightened his chest. Ratchet felt extremely satisfied being pushed back and forth between Fortress Maximus and Drift. He was slightly out of sync with their thrusts, one would delve deep when the other pulled back. His valve was sore from the rough force Drift inflicted, his jaw ached and clicked. Fortress Maximus’s girth was an extreme display of mechhood and an even bigger stretch to swallow. Ratchet’s lips were pulled into a tight ring, sealed to the shape of every bio light and groove, ready to receive the load Fortress Maximus’s spike spat when the egg finally dropped free. 

It was excitement that released the egg. Ratchet needed to only poke it once and Fortress Maximus released an undignified squeal of delight when the object finally came tumbling forward, triggering a shuddering climax as it fell. 

Ratchet hooked Fortress Maximus’s valve lips at the top of his valve and tugged them apart, creasing the outer nub as the last whole egg any of them had in then bounced to the ground then rolled. 

An increasing volume of salty fluid continued to pour into Ratchet. Fortress Maximus was gripping Ratchet’s helm, refusing to let go until every drop had dribbled free. 

All of the transfluid sat at the bottom of Ratchet’s throat and seemed to stay there like a lump. Ratchet could taste it, he could even smell it. When Fortress Maximus’s spike dropped out of his lips Ratchet was finally capable of breathing again and gulped down a mouthful of fresh air to mute the taste.  


Fortress Maximus staggered two, uneven steps back and wiped his nose. Watching Ratchet encourage Drift in a voice that was even deeper and huskier than before.

“Come on, Kid. Frag me! I know you can do it.” 

In a frenetic and desperate attempt to prove Ratchet right, Drift’s knees were bouncing on the berth as he threw his full weight into Ratchet, over and over, losing his gasp and then reclaiming it, hunting for the best angle, the deepest point to fuck.

Ratchet cringed and collapsed onto his chest, dribbling Maximus’s fluids from the corner of his mouth. His aft jutted high. The perpetual sound of wet friction reaching a very obvious end when Drift climaxed inside of Ratchet. His jaw dropped. His aft twitched. Drift didn’t make a sound until it was entirely over. They held their positions, shiverin, until Ratchet rolled free, a burst of fluids escaping from his valve. Drift gasped and groaned, his spike lying against his thigh: shivering. Drift was exhausted. 

When Ratchet flopped to his side, he revealed his own stomach to be covered in an undercoat of white. He and Drift remained apart for a moment. The silence that hung in the room like a bad smell forced them to reflect on what had just occurred with a critical perspective.

Fortress Maximus shuffled and thought about tucking away his interface, but made no effort to do so. Neither did the others. The room was cool and the air soothing. Until the sting had passed they decided to remain naked and quietly shuffled the eggs into a neat pile for cleaning when they had the energy to do so. They were all heckled by an urgency to leave the medical bay. The room was not comfortable to lounge in. 

Once again, it seemed making eye contact would become an issue and a vow was transcribed that they were never to speak of what had transpired between the three of them ever again. However, it’s security was defiled a moment later as they were all quietly leaving the medical bay and Drift sheepishly suggested that another away mission involving the three of them might not be such a bad idea… 

 


End file.
